Justification
by Jakia
Summary: SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON FINALE. Part 1?. Zuko attempts to justify his actions to Katara. This is easier said than done, as once a traitor, always traitor, and trust isn't exactly something you can win through seduction. Rated M for psychology and violen
1. The end is justifiably met

**_SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON FINALE!_**

You know, once upon a time, zutara was known as the ship of Dark, Forbidden Angst.

Because of the finale, _we can finally be the Dark, Forbidden Angst ship again!_ WOO-HOO! (parties with Rashaka and Akavertigoand a few others who are all like, W00t! Dark fics! Yay!)

So I present to you my post-finale fic-that-was-suppose-to-be-a-drabble-but-g rew-wings-and-six-pages---oh, and will be continued:

**Title:** Justification  
**Author:** Jakia  
**Summary:** Zuko attempts to justify his actions to Katara. This is easier said than done, as once a traitor, always traitor, and trust isn't exactly something you can win through seduction.  
**Genre:** Angst. Yes.  
**Word Count:** 2,513  
**Rated M for psychology and maybe some other stuff later. I hold no promises.**  
Part 1/?

* * *

"Follow me. I have something to show you."

She follows him through the dark passageways, the hidden tunnels that have always been there just-in-case, and when the sunlight hits her face she scathes. Even though it's been months since she'd seen the light, she still scorns its touch, as though the sunlight burns her like fire. She remains silent the entire way out of the prison cell, something he is both grateful and surprised for. He expected her to scream at him, to shout at him words of betrayal, of guilt, or at the very least, to ask where he was taking her.

But she says not a word. Nor does she look at him.

That was all right with him. He could live with her bitterness, her hatred towards him (how was it any different from how they use to know each other?).

But first, justification:

"This was my mother's garden," he explains quietly, so quietly he wonders if she hears him at all. She turns her head towards him, and he's surprised to see her expression soften ever so slightly. "She left when I was nine years old. I don't know why she left, or where she went, or--" he reminds himself to breathe, "Or even if she's still alive. All I know is that she's gone and it's my fault."

She whips her head around to face him, her mouth open with words on her tongue, but he holds his hand up to stop her. He'll face her judgment later, but first…

"That's what she said to me, before she left. She said, _All that I have done I have done for you,_ and _never forget who you are."_

Her face held confusion as he turns to face her. "That's why I joined Azula in the end. It's who I am."

"But it's not—"

"Yes," he cut her off sharply. "It is."

He exhales piercingly before taking a seat near the water, motioning for her to join him. She does, with a little less reluctance than before.

"I am the Prince of the Fire Nation." He explains, to her, and maybe to himself. "That's who I am, and who I'll ever be. I'm not asking for you to understand that." He sighs. "My—my mother wanted to see me become Fire Lord. I know she did. That's what she wanted, for me to become the Fire Lor—"

"Why wouldn't you?" She quips suddenly, interrupting his train of thought. "Are you not the first born son, the heir to the throne?"

He frowns; "It's not as simple as that."

Silence erupts in the garden; the only sound is the stray cries of the turtleducks nearby.

"Go on," she urges.

"He always loved her more," He speaks barely above a whisper now. "I don't know why—even before we found out Azula was a prodigy he loved her more." He bites his lip as the words fumble out. "I think it might've had something to do with the fact that she was born second, like him. Father always resented Uncle because he was born first, and—" He struggled with the words. "I think he resented me for being born first as well."

"Then why do you bother to try?" She can't help but growl fiercely. "He obviously isn't going to stop any time soon, why bother at all?"

He breathes, and confesses:

"Because I wanted him to love me as much as he did her. I wanted him to be proud of me like he was of her. I wanted…I _still_ want him to love me as much as her." He half-smirks, but it doesn't reach his sad yellow eyes. "There were times when I thought he almost did. After Mom left, he…he stayed with me, when no one else did. And there were other times, too, when he'd look at me like…like he was _almost_ proud of me."

He crosses his arms around his knees tightly. "I just thought… _If I were just a little stronger, a little more powerful, he'll love me like he does Azula._ And so I'd try, and try, and try. Even in exile, I tried. You can't say I ever stopped trying. I'm still trying.

"I hate it here. I hate the court, I hate the people in the court, I hate my Father, I hate Azula, I hate Mai, I hate Ty Lee. I hate _it_. I didn't use to, but I do now."

She raises her eyebrow curiously. "So why don't you leave?"

He shakes his head violently, memory overtaking him. "I can't. That's what Uncle tried to get me to do…in Bai Sing Sei, he wanted us to start over anew." He closes his eyes, and breathes in deeply a memory of strong Jasmine tea. "But I can't. Because I'm _not_ Li the refugee in Bai Sing Sei. I'm not. I can't forget who I am."

Ever so slowly, he lifts his hand and touches his scar. "…Even if I want to."

He turns to her suddenly, his face so achingly close to hers. "Could you? If the last thing your mother told you was to never forget who you were, could _you_ start over?"

She bites her lip and pulls away from him slowly. "I—I don't know." Her honesty shakes him. "I…I _want_ to say yes, but…" Unconsciously, her hand goes to her necklace with unnatural speed. "I just don't know."

The silence falls around them again, but not awkwardly this time. Rather, it's pleasant, and almost trustworthy.

"You're a good person, Zuko." She thinks aloud, a bemused look on her face. "You really are. I---I sort of wish you weren't. It'd be easier to hate you, you know."

"After you—I mean, when you sided with Azula, not us…" She speaks, unsure of herself even as the words form before her. "She almost killed him while he was in his Avatar State."

He nods, listens. "I know."

"I—I carried him out. And I used to Oasis Water to heal him." She wills herself not to cry. "It worked, he's alive…but it's not enough.

"We took him back to the Guru, to try to find out what was wrong with him still. He said that Aang had not fully completed releasing his jugulars, and therefore did not have full control over his Avatar State. So when Azula hit him…he died. But because I brought him back, his body still lives. But the Avatar spirit _inside_ of him has died, and now he's stuck trying to come to a balance within himself.

…And he hasn't let me go, whatever that's suppose to mean." She says, the tears streaming down her face.

"We waited, and we waited, but he never woke up. We couldn't just _wait_ forever. There was still a war going on out there.

"So we left Aang with the Guru and the King and came here, to the Fire Nation," She turns away almost spitefully. "And got captured."

He didn't know what to say; maybe she didn't either, but she was having a better time at it than he was.

"I don't know what's right anymore." She confesses out loud. "I don't know if what I'm doing is right, if what the Fire Nation is doing is right, or anything. I don't…I don't know if I still believe Aang can save the world. I just don't _know_."

Realization hits him hard. "You've lost hope," he muses.

She can only nod, and wishes she had the strength to stop crying.

Before he can stop himself, he puts a hand on her shoulder, and pulls her near him. "You can't lose hope," She cries harder, louder. "All we have is hope."

She buries herself in his arms and cries, cries until she feels she cannot cry any longer.

"You _can't_ give up hope." it's another of Uncle's old proverbs that he finds himself repeating, and he berates himself for it.

She pulls away from him suddenly, as if remembering that, yes, he is her enemy, and crying on the shoulder of your enemy is never a good thing. She wipes her eyes, big and puffy and red, and stands.

"Surely there must be something that gives you hope?" He asks, standing beside her. There is only silence, but her face betrays her. She is torn, she is desolate, she is—

"There is hope." Her face goes cold, stone like, a living statue in Ursa's sacred garden.

He stares at her changed form acceptingly. "What is it?"

"You won't like it."

"I never do—tell me anyway."

She smirks tellingly. "I'm not suppose to." Her voice is low, calm, and, dare he say, seductive? "But you already know—the Day of Black Sun."

He frowns only slightly. "I guess that's something to hope for."

She leans closer to him, her nose touching his. "Do you want to hear a secret, Prince Zuko?" The way she says his name is haunting and dangerous, and makes warning signals go off in his mind.

But he whispers, "Yes" anyway.

She pulls away from him and flashes him a girly grin. "I have the invasion plans from Bai Sing Sei for the Day of Black Sun. I've carried them in my back pocket since…since the Fall of Bai Sing Sei." Her eyes flutter: this is madness in its truest form. "When I was in that cave with you, all those months ago…I had it then, and I have it now."

She pulls it rolled up paper out of her pocket tauntingly, proof of her words and her lunacy. His eyes widen at the sight of it—this is something Azula does not have, something Azula cannot _get_. With the Earth Kingdom's plans, the Fire Nation will be invincible. With those plans, he could—

"…Win your father's love?" She completes his thoughts, again twirling the scroll in her fingers, playing with the thought of throwing it into the pond to watch him jump for it.

"Give it to me." He barely breathes, thoughts and feelings and traitorous ideas flowing through him like the blood in his veins.

She bats her eyes at him coyly, her voice dripping with poisoned syrup as she speaks. "No."

But Zuko never gives up without a fight, and finds himself standing blue eyes to gold. "_Give it to me, Katara._" His voice flows without hesitation and with maddening obsession; perhaps he is the crazy one out of the two.

"How much do you want it, _Prince_ Zuko?" She bats her eyes again at him, a mad laughter following.

Perhaps they are both crazy, and that is why they come to one another when all logic and reason fail them, just one crazy person looking for acceptance from another, a chance meeting of kindred, maddened spirits who know of nowhere else to turn.

"If you want it," her voice becomes deadly serious now as she tucks the scroll back into her pocket. "Then you can pry it from my cold dead fingers."

Like everything else in his life, he's going to have to fight to get what he wants in the end. He looks down at her apathetically. "Must you be so difficult?"

"How so?" She asks him softly, edging closer to him. "How is this any different from before? Different from any other time we've fought in the past?"

Because this time, he knows deep in his heart but cannot explain it, will be the last time they meet in battle.

He wavers. "I won't kill you."

"Not even for your father's love?"

He gulps. "Not even for my father's love."

Even though he says these words out loud, he doesn't know how true they are.

She frowns. "What if I attack you _first_?"

Before he can react to her words, he's dodging the icicle she's thrown at his throat. She leaps on him like a tiger pouncing its prey, pulling him down with her. The months spent in solitude and darkness has taken their toll on her—she no longer cares if she lives or if she dies.

He manages to push her off of him long enough to conjure up his familiar flame, red with desperation and his own personal insanity. Now, it is battle, true battle, familiar, reliable _battle_.

She jumps, he dodges. She throws, he catches. When push comes a shove, they're both evenly matched in the end, but that doesn't stop them from trying to get the upper hand for once. This time it's closer, more personal, because they aren't fighting for their beliefs, their duties, or the Avatar, but for _themselves_, because they are both tired of this, because they are both insane with grief, with loss, their bodies lain with scars that can't be seen, ones that will never heal.

He finally manages to push her down (_push pull push pull pushpullpushpullpushpull) _and _holds_ her down, his legs around her waist, his weight on top of her, and his arms holding hers in place.

"I'm not going to kill you." He repeats, remembering to breathe.

She stops her struggling momentarily and flinches at his breath on her face. "_Why not?!_"

"Because," Has he ever been this close to another person before? "I've never killed anyone before in my life, and I'm not about to start now."

Not for the first time, not for the last, she wishes he was an evil man so she could hate him properly, wishes he was anything but pure and misguided so she could jab an icicle into his throa—

He kisses her suddenly, swiftly, unexpectedly; the contact is sensual and not exactly foreign, but _different_ all the same. She can't help but moan as his tongue slides pass her lips, exploring her mouth with fire and lust and impatience and—

She pulls away quickly, remembering her name and place and who _he_ is, the bastard son of a bastard, the Traitor, the Prince of her sworn enemy and—

She cries. "I wish you'd kill me instead," Her body shakes as she cries out, louder. "I wish you'd kill me instead. _Did you hear me, you bastard?_ I said I wished you'd—"

"Shut _up_." He growls before smothering her lips with his again, this time harder, faster. She cries as her mind reels (_traitor traitor traitor you're a fucking traitor just as bad as he is) _because she wants _it_, this presence of him, his hands followings the curves of her body just as her own entangle themselves in the length of his hair, long and glossy and black, just like his soul.

He pulls away but not far, only enough for him to breathe. He kisses her again, softer, more gentle than before, and she pretends it's because he still cares somewhat. His lips do not linger long on her own before they begin to trail elsewhere, to her neck, her chin, her tearstained eyelids.

He kisses every stray teardrop on her body, every kiss burning like his skin, each of them leaving behind a personal scar all of their own.

XXX  
END

ALSO: I don't care if you agree or disagree about my theory of Zuko's betrayal or Aang's Avatar State or anything. I just don't _care_.

Jak


	2. Poetry in Motion

**Title:** Justification  
**Author:** Jakia  
**Summary:** Zuko attempts to justify his actions to Katara. This is easier said than done, as once a traitor, always traitor, and trust isn't exactly something you can win through seduction.  
**Genre:** Angst. Yes. But this chapter also has fluff, mostly to contrast the angst of last (and future) chapters.  
**Word Count:** 1,845  
**Rated M for psychology and maybe some other stuff later. I hold no promises.**  
Part 2/?

* * *

The sun rises in the eastern sky, gently coating the ground with its warmth, and eyes the color of fire open when the light touches his face.

Normally, he would get out of bed, dress, and meditate before facing the rest of the day. But he can't will himself to do it, not when there is something soft and brown beside him that demands his attention instead.

Katara sleeps through sunrise, and he finds himself surprised by that. He knows, of course, that she is a waterbender, not a firebender (a whip-shaped bruise on his back is a clear-cut reminder of that), but it still boggles his mind how anyone can sleep so soundly after the sun has risen. Doesn't the light wake them up, at least? --Apparently not, because Katara has yet to acknowledge the sun's existence.

Gently, so gently that she barely feels it, he lifts his hand and gently caresses her face, careful not to wake her. She is so beautiful right now, with her hair disheveled and her skin, dark and sinful and soft. He's half-tempted to kiss her, to wake her up from her dreamlike state, but he doubts that would end well for anyone.

He's still her enemy, after all.

Slowly he pulls his hand away from her cheek. (He's her _enemy_.)

He snorts as he watches her bury her head deeper into the red satin pillows. Enemies don't talk like the two of them have talked; enemies don't share the connection they have. If they were really enemies, truly, he would have never shown her his mother's garden, would have never held her as she cried, would have never kissed her or touched her or made love to her.

(Because that's what it was—making love. Gentle and soothing and passionate all the same, but it was _love_ he felt for her, not lust.)

She shivers (cold?) and moves her hands unconsciously along the bed until she feels his body, and smiles as she wraps her arms around him and sleeps with her head on his chest.

Spirits, he loves this woman! This wild woman of water, who has captured his heart and soul with simple words and gentle, adoring touches. Everything he's ever known tells him he shouldn't love her, but logic and reason left him a long time ago, and he's not so fond of them as to ask for them back. He'd prefer to bury his head in her hair (so soft…is everything about her so soft?) rather than think of the reasons why he loves and adores her so.

Because sometime after he spoke with her in the underground of Bai Sing Sei, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Soon, his dreams were filled with thoughts of her, memories of her touch and her hope and the words he spoke. Eventually even his waking hours were dedicated to her as well, to remembering the feel of her hand against his scar, the only person outside himself to ever touch it.

_One of these days_, he thinks, his hand entangled in the length of her hair, _I'll stop hurting the people I love._

It's a bad habit and he needs to stop it, he knows—first Uncle, now Katara, why is it that anyone he gets truly close to he feels the need to push away somehow?

But Katara _is_ his enemy, even though he loves her and would do (almost) anything for her, she's still his enemy.

And she shouldn't underestimate how far he'll go to get what he wants.

He places one last fleeting kiss on her forehead before detangling his body from hers, catching a last look at the mocha flesh he spent the night worshipping. She continues to sleep, oblivious to his absence, and it breaks his heart a little somehow. He feels guilt and disgust at himself, and is partly ashamed at his actions.

But that does not stop him from rummaging through her clothes and pulling out the Earth Kingdom's plans to invade the Fire Nation.

He gives one last fleeting glance at her sleeping form, and then he's gone.

**XXX**

Katara wakes up cold, alone, and not at all surprised. She wakes up to an empty bed with sheet the color of fire and a smell that she can only describe as _Zuko_, blushing as her hand traces the indent of the sheets where his body lay last night. In spite of everything that has happened to her, she wakes up feeling like a little girl who just had the most _wonderful_ dream, dreams of a handsome prince who'll sweep her off her feet and carry her off into the sunset, whispering to her some of the words he said to her last night.

Even though she's sore and exhausted and it hurt like hell, it still reminds her of magic, and so she breathes in his scent one last time, trying to glorify the memory of a handsome Prince who loves her and would _never_ betray her trust before facing the harshness reality offers her.

His room seems cleaner in the sunlight, far from the mess she thought she tripped over in the night when his were hands spread across her back and pressure building between her legs. No, now it's much cleaner, and if it weren't for her discarded blue clothing in the middle of the floor it would look like the ideal prince's room. She winces as she walks, a sheet covering her body as she makes her way to where the clothing lays. She notes the ripped seam of her robe and hopes, no, _prays_ that it is easily fixed, because she doesn't want to have to wear red, not red, not _red_.

She finds the door to his room is locked from the outside, and the invasion plans from Bai Sing Sei are gone.

She is not surprised. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. (She wonders how many times she'll have to offer him her trust before he stops disappointing her.) She doesn't cry though, and even manages to laugh, darkly, at how stupid and naïve she still is. Of course he used her. Of course. When has he done anything but?

Like she's come to expect from Zuko, even when he's cruel he's still somewhat kind. She finds an unlocked door that leads to a warm bath and scented perfumes, and she spends hours in the bubbly water until she finds herself daydreaming (of _him_) before she tries to scrub his scent off of her skin.

When she finally leaves her haven of water she finds another surprise: breakfast and clothing. A basket full of exotic fruits tempts her taste buds as the juice rolls down her chin. There's enough of it there to last even Sokka for days, and enough variety of it to satisfy her curiosity. (These fruits never grew in the South Pole; admittedly, not much did, but it's still interesting to try different foods.)

The robe he left for her is made of silk and looks distinctively Fire Nation, but the blue and purple colors warm her soul with gratitude. It fits perfectly, hugging the more womanly curves of her body, and she wonders where he got it from and how he knew it'd fit her.

She twirls around in it playfully, and for a moment pretends she's a Princess, not a prisoner.

There are books, too, to keep her entertained. Three large piles of books catch her interest immediately, containing everything from war strategies and history to poetry and the arts. She surprises even herself by picking up the poetry book first. Instantly she falls in love with a sonnet written by a King, whose lover was lost to the sea. She finds the descriptions of the lover terrifyingly similar to herself, and wonders if Zuko left this book with her on purpose.

By the time Zuko comes back she has already ravaged the texts on history and strategies, and is so deep in a love story about two forbidden lovers that she momentarily forgets her anger and disappointment in him and focuses on the book instead.

If he's surprised at her inaction he doesn't show it; instead he wanders over to the bed and lies next to her, resting his head on her shoulder, reading over her shoulder as she devours the pages one by one.

"I think I've read this before." He mumbles after she finishes the chapter, nuzzling her absentmindedly. "It has a terrible ending, if I remember right."

"If you tell me the end of it before I get there I swear to Nin I'll—"

But the grin on his face is irreplaceable and full of mischief as he knowingly blathers on, "He dies in the end."

"_Damn_ you. I—_damn_ you. I swear, I'll kill you—"

But his mirth is contagious and soon it is all-out war between the two, the pillows acting as both weapons and shields, but both of them are defenseless against the matters of the heart, so this night ends the same as the last; filled with passion and sparks but without the much needed confessions and accusations that would make them whole once more.

They fall asleep beside each other, arms wrapped tightly and protectively. She leans her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as she closes her eyes, thinking how perfectly content the world seems from this bed of lies she's put herself in.

**XXX**

The next morning Zuko wakes up cold, alone, and not at all surprised to find himself that way. Distantly, he's aware that Azula is in his room, throwing various articles of clothing at him, screaming for him to "Get up, get up, the prisoners have escaped!" and that this must, somehow of course, be Zuko's fault.

After all, _his_ keys were the ones found gone.

And the guards were found frozen to the wall.

(How Azula came to relate him to that one he didn't dare venture a guess, but the knowing look she sent him made him shiver all the same.)

He shoves the tunic Azula's thrown at him off of his head and waits. She leaves promptly after, expecting Zuko to dress and follow, and in most circumstances he _would_ but—

It's cold.

(He knows he's a firebender and therefore should just be able to warm himself up, but this sort of cold he can't cure with firebending, for the warmth of her body and an inner flame cannot replace each other.)

Lightly his hand traces the spot where she lay a few hours ago, remembering a smell he can only describe as _her_, and wishing more than anything that it was her beside him instead of an empty and cold bed. He's not surprised, though, and in fact is amused by this, by the way she betrays him like he betrayed her.

He smiles before closing his eyes, thinking of the soft brown girl he will no doubt dream of, and for the first time in his life, sleeps through the sunrise.

XXX  
END

A/N: Thank you guys for your reviews last chapter! Made me so happy that other people liked my theories and I'm not just crazy.

Also, I could not for the life of me remember if the Avatar!verse had books or if they only used scrolls. However, since a scroll of poetry didn't sound right I used book instead. The Fire Nation is _Just That Good._

Jak


End file.
